Last Time By Moonlight
by Milk and Glass
Summary: Addison has a bad first night with Batgirl and Pete shows up unexpectedly to help.


For the fifth time, her piercing cries wake you from your nest on the couch and you squint down at the infant seat on the floor beside you, groaning as you see a pair of tiny waving fists and kicking little socks.

"Okay, okay, I'm getting it, I'm getting it," you mutter, swinging your legs out of bed and accidentally hitting the side of the carrier with your socked foot. The hungry cries stop in shock, and then start up again, more piercing and frantic.

You look down at your feet and register the screwed-up teary eyes and toothless mouth before your brain kicks in with yes, this is a baby, and not just a siren set by someone to annoy you and break your sleep. Leaning down double, you hear your vertebrae crack into place as you lift the eight-pound bundle of wiggly baby into your arms and regard your newest friend, albeit one without a name.

You've tried several on her. First you thought she sounded like a kitten, now you think she sounds more like a screaming banshee. But when she's quiet, she cuddles into your arms, and she smells like baby powder and milk, and her eyelashes are so long, curled on her cheeks, that you almost feel guilty, getting to be the one to spend her first day and night with her instead of her mother.

The formula is a bit too hot, so you jiggle her around to get her to stop her siren wail and it works for a moment as she settles enough for you to check her diaper and adjust her swaddle. However, hunger's never far from her mind, and she starts crying again as she simultaneously fills her diaper and kicks her legs free from your half-finished swaddle. The formula sits, just out of reach on the counter, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed and exhausted.

You don't mean to – after all, you've spent hours on your feet and gone thirty-six hours without sleeping before, but it's the urgency of the thing – get the diaper changed, and realizing that it's leaked all over the baby's sleeper and you're not sure where the box of baby clothes from the Goodwill is – get the bottle in the baby's mouth and try to get most of the formula down her throat instead of all over her sleeper, but give up when you realize it's already dirty – and it's gotten to the point where without you, she's not going to make it through this night – and you break down, your tears and low sobs joining her quickly escalating wails.

It's here that Pete finds you.

You later imagined the scene through his eyes: you, in a dirty, spit-up-stained sweatshirt and too-big jeans; hair messed beyond belief (curling unattractively, greasy along the part) – the baby dressed in a filthy sleeper and half-swaddled in a stained blanket, wailing on the sofa in the kitchen; the counters littered with formula powder and dirty bottles – a dirty diaper sitting by the sink, and when you think of it, you laugh. You're a world-class neonatal surgeon and you know babies. This really is a little ridiculous.

But instead of saying anything, he says nothing – he simply picks the baby up in his strong arms, dirt, poop, spit-up, tears and all, and starts to rock her while humming under his breath. You're not sure if it's the bass rumble of his voice or simply that you haven't thought of just holding her yet, but she settles in his arms and you foolishly hand him the bottle.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He looks at you a bit askance. "Can you get her a fresh diaper and some new clothes?"

You feel like retorting that you were just on your way, but you don't have the energy and your shoulders and head, held high in pride and resentment at his ease with the baby, drop. "Okay. I can't find the box, though."

"I think Naomi left it in your office." He doesn't look at you, but he adjusts the angle of the bottle so that the formula flows a little better into the baby's mouth. You wander back with clean clothes and he expertly changes the diaper and strips the baby, who begins to wail at the sudden cold.

"Shh, shh, I hear you, sweetie," he murmurs and quickly dresses her, swaddling her tightly and expertly, before handing her back to you.

"Wow," comprises all the words you're able to get out at three A.M. and he finally gives up and grins.

"I have two nieces and for awhile, my sister lived with me while she was getting on her feet. I'm used to newborns."

"Apparently. Thanks for your help," you finish lamely, and feel the tears coming to your eyes again as you look down at the sleeping baby.

"You okay?" His voice is matter-of-fact, like always, but your lower lip trembles and he reaches out and catches a tear on his finger.

"Yeah, I'll be fine, but she won't sleep when I put her down and I'll have to hold her until she's deep enough so that I can curl up on that horrible couch, and I have my first appointment in six hours and I look like crap –" Your voice is quickly disintegrating and you suddenly look down at the baby to hide the sudden mist that's obscuring your vision.

His hand finds your shoulder and rubs it, warmly. "You're tired. Why don't you get some sleep without her? I can watch her for a bit."

It's on the tip of your tongue to refuse, but he tips your face up with his free hand and looks into your blue eyes. "Go on. You're exhausted, Addison."

"I just don't know why I ever thought I'd be good at this. This is like a trial, you know? And I suck. I can't even handle her for a night."

"Everyone sucks at this at first. No one tells you how hard it is when they're new like this. They cry and they need and you can't always juggle everything at once. I get it."

"You do," you reply, and there's no question there. He places the sleeping baby in her carrier and leaves the door ajar, putting his arm around your shoulders.

"Come on."

You slump against him as he leads you down the hall and he gives you an appraising look before picking you up in his arms, just like he picked up the baby. You wiggle weakly for a moment, but then settle against his good-smelling chest, trying not to think about how you must smell, in need of a shower and having been vomited on several times.

He settles you on the couch, plumping your pillow and shaking out your throw before leaving the room to get the infant carrier. Miraculously, the child is still asleep.

He sits beside you on the couch, and you lean against him, taking in his warmth before he leans down to whisper in your hair.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For the fact that I've been an ass. Anytime, really."

"Thanks?" You're a little confused, but you go with it until he starts stroking your hair, and then jerk in surprise so suddenly his fingers catch on a knot and your face crumples in pain and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," you wail, and then cast a scared glance at the corner. The baby sleeps on, thankfully.

"Shh, Addison," he commands in a whisper, and you nod. "Sorry."

His gaze is meaningful. "No. Shh." And with that, he kisses you.

He curls up beside you on the narrow couch, half off of it, and holds you until you fall asleep. Two hours must have passed in the time he was with you, but when you wake up, expecting to hear the cries of a hungry baby, he and the newborn are nowhere to be seen.

Later, you find him in the kitchen, eating a piece of toast and jam. The baby looks raptly around, trying to focus her cloudy eyes before giving up and closing them for a moment.

"Hi."

"Hi," he replies, pushing the coffee pot towards you. "Feel better?"

"No," you say truthfully, but shake your head. "I need to go home and shower. When's Charlotte coming to get the baby?"

"I haven't spoken to her yet, but knowing her, she'll be over first thing, probably."

You pick up the sleeping newborn, cradling her in your arms, smelling her soft smell and rubbing your cheek against the down of her hair. Pete's face is tender as he watches you.

"I don't think you'll suck at it," he says, and you smile.

"I don't want to suck at it. But I guess you learn."

"Yeah."

A moment passes and you smile, thinking of how he saved you last night. "I couldn't have done it without you, though."

He grins and gets up. "I know. But it's okay. To tell the truth, I sort of missed it."

"Missed what?" you say recklessly, not really caring about the answer, but he smiles anyway and runs a hand over your hair.

"Missed saving you."

You smile back. "I missed it too."


End file.
